Follow the River

Fuck Mondays.

Seriously, fuck ‘em and whoever decided to invent them because they are the worst day of the week bar none.

And on top of that, fuck whoever decided to create seven-thirty lectures. I might be an early riser, sure, but it doesn’t mean I’m fully functional at this hour.

Closing the door to the lecture hall as quietly as I can because I’m already fifteen minutes late as it is, I spin to look for a seat, finding one at the back of the class on an aisle.

Perfect. Thank God for being left-handed. No one ever wants those aisle spots.

After easing my frame into the chair, I grab my notebook and a pen from my backpack before sliding it out of the way.

Honestly, I shouldn’t be bitching about this class. I should just be grateful Coach Scott was able to pull some strings to get me in the section even though it was at max capacity because I was drowning in my old section. The time of day just didn’t work with my schedule for practice, especially when we have two-a-days.

And while nepotism didn’t get me my starting position on the field as a freshman, I’ll gladly use it in this circumstance.

Flicking open the notebook, I’m about to start taking notes, my pen hand paused over the paper, when I feel it.

Him.

How? I couldn’t say. I just fucking know it’s him. Just like I know he will catch whatever I throw his way on the field. Like an instinct. A second skin.

The other half of a whole.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” a voice mumbles to my right, low, deep, and absolutely belonging to Ciaráin.

I glance up at him, finding him in a pair of black sweats and a long sleeve shirt with Colorado Football emblazoned on the front. His dark hair is covered by a gold and black snapback sitting backwards on his head.

And when I look at his eyes, I’m not surprised to find palpable amounts of rage simmering in them. Especially after the “talk” we had last week in the hall outside the weight room. If you could call it that.

Biting my lip, I stifle a laugh the best I can because, really, universe? What the fuck did I do to you on this fine Monday morning for you to hand me a spoon when I need a damn shovel to help bury myself in this fucking hole I’m digging when it comes to this guy.

Giving Ciaráin my full attention, I cock my head and answer with a cheery tone, one a little too loud for a dead silent lecture hall while our professor is going through his lecture notes.

“Morning to you too, Grady. Fancy seeing you in here,” I tell him with a smile I don’t quite feel, earning me a glare and a hissed shush from the girl in front of me.

Shooting her a look, I turn back to look at Ciaráin, finding him watching me closely under thick black lashes so long they almost graze his skin when he blinks.

“It was a fine morning until you walked in and sat down,” he hisses, his voice lowered much further than mine. “What are you even doing here? You aren’t in this class.”

“I am now,” I tell him, sliding down in my seat and abandoning my pen and notebook on the desktop. “Just got switched in this morning.”

“Fucking brilliant,” he sighs, rubbing his temple with his index and middle fingers. “Well obviously you didn’t realize I’m in this class. But I am. So after today, make sure you are seated on the opposite side of the damn hall from me, yeah?”

I scoff, crossing my arms over my chest and settling in for what is sure to be a possibly riveting conversation. “You actually think you have some sort of power over me? Enough to tell me where I can and can’t sit in class? How dense are you, dude?”

“I just want you to leave me the hell alone,” he growls, his voice rising enough to catch the glances of a few people around us. His heated glare is enough to quickly make their curiosity wane though, before his attention is focused back on me. “So it seems I should be asking are you so fucking dense you can’t seem to grasp that?”

“Literally picked the first open seat I saw. And I’ll continue to pick whatever seat is available,” I tell him, my tone sharp. “You should know by now I’m not one to take orders from condescending pricks.”

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline before his glare hardens even more. “You want to talk about pricks? Go squat in a cactus patch, Le

I smirk, not having heard something so colorful from him before. “Clever as ever, Grady.”

He shrugs, turning his attention back to the front of class. As if he’s actually paying attention with me right beside him because we both know it’s damn near impossible to think when the other is around. “I thought so. I know they have ‘em here. Those weird looking ones. Prickly pears, right?”

I raise my brow, curious as to where the hell he’s going with this one. Taking the bait is stupid, but no one ever accused me of being smart.

Not when it comes to this guy at least.

“Does it fucking matter?”

His eyes snap back to mine and I know instantly that I fucked up from the sickening gleam in them. He licks his lips and gives me a wry smile, one showing his perfect teeth and fuck him for being this attractive even when he’s being a cockhead. “Not particularly. Although, the shape of those bad boys ought to add some real kink to your next round of anal play.”

My jaw clenches and I swear to God I feel a molar crack under the pressure. “Good looking out, babydoll. Want to try it out with me? You know, since you’re awfully curious about what goes in my ass.” The words come out through gritted teeth as I do my best to keep my temper in check.

A temper I never knew I had until I met Ciaráin Grady.

But I can’t exactly lose my shit in a lecture hall filled with over two hundred students in the middle of class. No matter how much I want to drag him out of here by the collar of his shirt and scream in his face for being such an asshole. Or bend him over and fuck him for the entire class to watch.

You know, whichever would help him learn I won’t back down faster.

Ciaráin grumbles something under his breath, in Irish from the sounds of it, and I lose my damn mind.

My hand lashes out and snatches the front of his shirt, reeling him into me so my mouth is practically on his ear when I hiss the words out. “What did I say about that shit? You got something to say to me, say it. Don’t hide behind another fucking language like a goddamn pussy.”

Releasing him with a shove, I shift to face the front of the class, finding many, many sets of eyes on us. Including those belonging to our professor.

“Do we have a problem, Mr. Le

Rolling my teeth over my bottom lip, I internally curse Ciaráin for getting us into this bullshit. And all because he can’t handle me sitting next to him for an hour lecture.

“We’re fine, sir. Just arguing over a play from this past weekend. Won’t let it happen again.”

My eyes land on Ciaráin, letting him know he better go along with this shit before we both get our asses reamed out by Johnston. Or worse, Coach.

It takes a minute, but I see his concession, so I look away to catch my breath.

“Sorry, Professor,” Ciaráin grinds out. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, but I don’t look, just keep my eyes locked on the front of the room. “We can continue it later. We didn’t mean to interrupt class.”